Sunday, August 26, 2012

First Steps


Photograph by Bill Benzon, poem by Sally Benzon, siblings all.

Words with Neil Armstrong

On the other side
of counting each night
wakened to sunrise,

here is the moment when
the shore by leave of its senses
appreciates being

the vigil: living or dead,
outstanding hands
whose sound in clapping

one by one is the toll
weathered of degrees
deep with listless light.

Somehow the moon,
the moon alone can speculate
how to crystallize

no one’s pictured face
seen in a breezy garden.
Melody calling of us

silent to the salt cast
of our reflections: You bear
seasoned bodies

whose shadows of sound
-- each and every thrall --
delights in tiding

the afterlight. Earthbound.
Forever the leap of moon
is home again. Again.

  O mercy! Love! Mercy!

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